


Road to Hell

by ceredonia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demons, Drama, Human Castiel, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Snark, slight wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceredonia/pseuds/ceredonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Big Bang Mix-up at LJ. I super-suck at descriptions...</p><p>Sam makes a deal with a demon. Dean tries to get him out of it. Castiel attempts to help as well. Dean finds himself having strange urges towards both Sam and Castiel and isn't sure what to make of everything.</p><p>Inspired by a track mix by the_disillusion at LJ, will include links to art by moushkas later.</p><p>Track listing:<br/>01: Graveyard - Goliath<br/>02: Ulver - The Night Before<br/>03: Stone Sour - Silly World<br/>04: Witchcraft - It's Not Because of You<br/>05: Graveyard - Uncomfortably Numb<br/>06: Opeth - The Devil's Orchard<br/>07: Ancient VVisdom - Deathlike<br/>08: Fleet Foxes - Your Protector<br/>09: Cynic - Box Up My Bones</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goliath

Part One:  “Goliath”

 

It was nearly pitch-black outside, especially with thick storm clouds covering the half-moon mid-way up in the sky.

To be fair, it was _usually_ dark outside whenever Dean did most of his thinking. Nights were very conducive for that—there wasn’t a lot of traffic on the backwoods roads they often traveled, Sam was usually sleeping or otherwise lost in a book, and the sight of the yellow headlights of the Impala splashing against the cement stretching out before them was soothing. He was able to lose himself in thought pretty easily, usually wanting to escape into his imagination to think about busty Asian ladies or banishing demons.

But Sam was wide awake tonight. And Dean couldn’t think straight because of the bombshell Sam had just dropped on him out of nowhere.

It wasn’t _really_ out of nowhere; Dean had known something was up, able to sense when something was bothering his brother. And something was _definitely_ bothering him; he’d been buried in research that he wouldn’t share with Dean, making him follow ridiculous leads for hunts that he wouldn’t explain the reasoning behind, and wouldn’t talk about anything for longer than a minute or two. Finally he’d opened up in the Impala an hour before, after trying repeatedly to start conversations but apparently not having the courage to say what he wanted to say and looking like he was about to throw up.

“I _told_ you, I don’t want to talk about it.” Sam had repeated the same line every five minutes after his revelation, knowing Dean was occasionally looking away from the road to glare at him again, still at a loss for words.

“The least you could do is—”

“I’ll talk when I have something, okay? I can handle myself.” At least he was less pale than before, when he’d spit out what he did.

“ _Sammy_ —”

“Don’t.”

This was the most they’d talked in the past hour, and Dean took it as a win. Deciding to push his luck, he cleared his throat. “C’mon Sam, please—”

“Look, I have my reasons. Can we leave it at that?”

“ _No_ , we can’t ‘ _leave it at that_ ,’” Dean mocked, pulling over to the side of the otherwise deserted road. He left the engine running and leaned back in the seat, folding his arms across his chest. He turned his head to the right to inspect Sam, who was staring outside at something beyond the windshield.

“What.” Sam didn’t look at him; whatever space of emptiness he was watching was surely a better alternative to the look Dean was giving him.

“You made a deal with a _demon_ , Sam.” Dean couldn’t control the amount of venom in his voice; he couldn’t _remember_ the last time he’d been _this furious_. Screwing up on a hunt was one thing, but willingly sacrificing himself for some unknown reason? That was beyond any level of stupidity he thought Sam possessed.

“Yeah, for a good reason.”

“That you won’t _tell_ me!”

“Because you don’t need to _know_!”

“Just…is it something stupid, like trying to bring Dad back to life?” He felt a sharp pang in his chest at his own words, and watched Sam look over at him, sadness flashing in his eyes.

“That’s not _stupid_ , Dean, but no. Nothing to do with Dad.”

“Then _what_?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s been a long day, and we _both_ need sleep.”

“I saw a sign for a motel about an hour out. We’ll stop there. And when we do…” Dean shifted to put his hands back on the wheel, flicking the turn signal to alert the emptiness of the road that he was pulling back onto the asphalt, “I want answers.”

 

 **T** he motel was basically deserted, sitting on a long stretch of land that faded away into a large section of backwoods property. A tree line dotted the horizon and there was only forest for miles, so it seemed like a decent enough shithole to get a few hours’ sleep and regroup. Dean slid a credit card towards the surly man standing behind the counter, who slid a room key back to him a minute later over the cracked, yellowed linoleum, a dying cigarette dangling from between his chipped front tooth and crooked bottom teeth. Dean picked it up, already feeling gross just from standing in the cloud of smoke that hovered inside the entirety of the small room, and resisted the urge to make a smart-aleck remark about where the nearest dentist was located.

Sam was waiting outside, leaning against the hood of the Impala, staring at the ground, their two all-purpose traveling duffels at his feet. When he saw Dean approaching with the room key dangling from his fingers, he bent to grab the bags and straightened, tossing one of them at Dean. He caught it easily, pointing ahead of them to a room on the end of a bank of identical rooms.

They opened the door and pushed it open, revealing the same sort of shitty room they were used to staying in over the years—terrible, mismatched décor, a tinier-than-seemed-physically-possible bathroom, and two full beds, separated by a few feet of discolored carpet and two nightstands that couldn’t have been newer than 1924. A small, likely-black-and-white-only television set sat on the far wall on a small dresser, with a small circular mirror standing vigil above and just to the right.

“Charming,” Dean said, tossing his bag onto the far bed. Sam made a noise of agreement and followed suit, sitting on the edge of the bed closer to the doorway. He pulled his laptop out of a backpack he’d brought inside and opened it, watching it wake up from its silent, digital sleep.

“Why don’t you go find some food?” Sam suggested, staring at the screen as he began to type.

“It’s the middle of the night, Sam. Where am I supposed to go, the dumpster?”

“Sounds great.” He wasn’t even paying attention. Dean sighed and grabbed his car keys, heading for the door.

“Back later,” he said over his shoulder. He heard Sam grunt in acknowledgement and shook his head, closing the door behind him.


	2. The Night Before

Part Two: “The Night Before”

 

_Dean stepped out of the shower, grabbing for the towel haphazardly tossed on the floor. He wrapped it around his waist and ran his hands through his hair, shaking out the excess water. He stood in front of the mirror, admiring the view, clenching his fists to emphasize the muscles in his forearms and biceps. He glanced out past the door and saw Sam on his laptop, as per the norm, sitting at the small table near the front of the motel room._

_“You want anything to eat?” he called out, making a sexy face at his reflection in the mirror._

_“I’m good,” came the answer he was expecting. It was late and they both needed to sleep, but Dean had needed a shower first._

_It wasn’t a pretty kill, tracking that vampire back to its den. They’d gotten the upper hand quickly since it was only a handful of newly-turned vampires, but blood was blood, and Dean had ended up covered in most of it. The shower was well-deserved, and he wasn’t really that hungry, but wasn’t exactly ready to sleep. Too much adrenaline in his system._

_He stepped out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around him, and walked over to his clothes lying in a pile on top of his likely-disease-ridden comforter on the bed. He dropped the towel and started pulling on his underwear and jeans as Sam let out a strangled noise, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes._

_“Dude, I know we’re close and all, but really, it’s okay to get dressed in private,” he said, shaking his head._

_Dean raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Come on, you’re saying you don’t want a piece of this?” he teased, shaking his ass in Sam’s direction. This was met with another, longer groan of annoyance. “You’re no fun.”_

_“I’m plenty of fun,” Sam argued, frowning._

_“Oh, grow up. What’s on the agenda tonight?” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and yanked on a shirt, not bothering to smooth it out at the hem where it bunched up over the waist of his jeans._

_“I was planning on turning in early,” Sam replied, closing the lid of his laptop. “I’m worn out from earlier.”_

_“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He reached over to the table between the beds and grabbed the television remote, pressing the power button. The small television powered on with a sputter of static and he started flipping channels, the picture becoming increasingly clearer as the screen warmed up._

_“So that means watch TV all night?”_

_“Like I’m really going to sleep at—” Dean glanced over at the clock, “—eleven at night. Don’t you know me by now?”_

_“Ugh,” was Sam’s response as he collapsed on the other bed, his eyes closing instantly. “Just don’t make too much noise, all right?”_

_“Yeah, sure, Sammy,” he answered automatically, finally settling on an old cartoon he didn’t recognize. He looked over and saw that Sam was already asleep, breathing deeply._

**_T_ ** _hree in the morning. Historically not a great time to be awake._

_Sam sat up, hearing the ancient bedsprings creak beneath his entirely-too-large-for-these-beds body, and quickly glanced over at Dean. His chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he slept, the television finally silent._

_“Dean?” he whispered. He didn’t falter, and Sam let out the breath he’d been holding. He swung his legs off the bed, wincing as the creaking continued, and carefully made his way towards the door, picking up his coat from the back of the chair by the door. He slid his arms through the sleeves and buttoned up the front, keeping an eye on Dean, who remained asleep. A moment later he snuck out the door, closing it quietly behind him._

_His goal wasn’t far; there was an abandoned field about two miles from the motel, and if he walked quickly, he could get there relatively quickly. He could feel the asphalt of the road mold to the underside of his shoes; despite the chilly night air, the days were still hot and sticky, and the material had softened, making it awkward to stand in one spot longer than a couple of seconds._

_It didn’t take long to reach his destination, and Sam stood in the center of the small field, looking down at the ground. The grass beneath his feet was destroyed, the few blades remaining discolored with neglect, and it was mostly dirt as far as he could see._

_He knelt down and pressed a hand to the dirt, pinching a few crumbs between his fingers. Letting out a sigh, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small bag of items, emptying them out on the dirt. He picked up the piece of paper that had fallen out of the bag and unfolded it, studying the sigil drawn on it to make sure he didn’t miss any lines. He began to draw it on the ground, carefully tracing the lines along the dry dirt, making sure to copy exactly what was printed on the paper._

_Once done, he stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees, and bent over to pick up the remaining items, straightening a moment later. In his hands were a stick of coriander incense and a small bundle of rowan. He reached into his other coat pocket and withdrew a lighter, flicking open the end and igniting it, lighting the end of the incense. The sickly sweet smell filled the immediate air surrounding him and he set it on the ground at the bottom edge of the sigil, placing the bundle of rowan at the top edge. Putting the lighter back in his pocket, he took out the small knife tucked in his waistband and held it to his left palm, gritting his teeth as the blade dragged across the tender skin, immediately leaving behind a thick band of red liquid._

_Sam let out a ragged breath and squeezed his fingers against his palm, feeling pain rushing towards the new wound. He angled his hand over the ground in front of him and continued squeezing, watching as a few beads of warm blood dripped away from him, splashing against the rowan leaves. He began to chant the summoning spell he had spent the last few days memorizing, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on the sudden chill in the air instead of the intense pain beginning to fill his hand and forearm._

_“This is…interesting.”_

_Sam looked up at the sound of a man’s voice and frowned, taking in the scene. A man with dark brown hair was standing a few feet away, his hands folded in front of his waist, clasped together. Dressed in a sharp black suit with a black shirt and matching tie, he nearly blended into the darkness. He smiled and Sam noticed the right corner of his lips curled up into a half-smile, giving him an air of friendliness. A silver streak ran through the right side of his hair, just above his ear, as though age was starting to nip at his heels, though that was impossible._

_Sam pulled his still-leaking hand against his chest, elevating it slightly in an attempt to halt the bleeding. “Are you—”_

_“Yes, it is I, Valefor, humble servant to thee who summons me.” The man bent at the waist just slightly and spread his hands out to his sides, palms facing the sky._

_“My name is—”_

_“Oh, let us not attempt to fool each other, Sam Winchester.” Valefor straightened and lowered his hands to rest against his sides. “You are quite well-known among the … underground, putting things in terms you may understand. And by the way, I was kidding before. I am no servant, especially not to someone such as yourself.”_

_Sam stood up straight, right hand moving automatically to the pistol tucked into the front of his jeans, just underneath his jacket. Valefor let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head._

_“Please, do not misunderstand, Mr. Winchester. I am not going to cause trouble. After all,_ you _are the one who summoned_ me _, if you recall.”_

_“It’s always good to be prepared,” Sam replied, lowering his hand._

_“Indeed. Now, how may I be of service?”_

_Sam glanced down at the ground, measuring up the distance between the two of them. It was sufficiently large enough for the moment. “I want to make a deal. Isn’t that what you do?”_

_“My, haven’t you already done your research? Of course you have; I’m dealing with a Winchester, after all.” Valefor remained still, staring at Sam with a calm expression, his features softening into a polite smile. “What sort of deal do you have in mind?”_

_Sam hesitated, looking back up at Valefor to meet his eyes. His smile creased his face, but no wrinkles were visible around his eyes or mouth, which was vaguely unsettling. “I need you to fix my brother.”_

_“Fix?” Valefor narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Whatever do you mean?”_

_“Dean deserves a better life than the one he’s had. He’s seen too much in his lifetime, and he doesn’t seem to think he should have a normal life. I want you to guarantee me that he won’t go to hell, or purgatory, or anywhere else terrible when he dies. And I want some sort of personal assurance that he won’t die by supernatural means, and that he has at least forty more years ahead of him, if not longer.”_

_“My dear boy, I don’t think you realize what an undertaking that would be. Personally responsible for one person on this entire planet of billions? Do you think I have nothing but free time to waste watching over one tiny, useless human being?”_

_“You’re here talking to me, aren’t you? You can’t be_ that _busy.”_

_Valefor laughed; the sound was surprisingly warm. “Touche, Sam Winchester. However, that is still quite a large favor. What makes you think I will agree to such?”_

_“I’m prepared to offer you my soul in exchange,” Sam replied, grateful that his voice didn’t betray him by cracking. “I’ll willingly go to hell and serve under you, or you can do whatever you like to my soul. There is a caveat though, and that is you can’t send people after me to actively hunt me. When I die, it will be by either natural or supernatural means, but on my own terms, and not because of a trap you’ve set. You’ve got to be patient.”_

_“What if you are meant to live for another fifty years? This hardly seems fair.”_

_“You know as well as I do that I’m not likely to live that long, given my lifestyle.”_

_“This…bargain still does not satisfy me. If I may, I’d like to throw in a favor from you, and perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”_

_“What is that?”_

_Valefor took a step forward, hands still at his sides. “Surely you know of my master, Sargatanas. I have served under him for as many years as you can imagine, and then some. Once upon a time he was a kind master, and I willingly performed duties underneath his rule. Lately, however, I’ve been… dissatisfied, you might say, and would like to improve my standing. There is an item I would like you to acquire for me.”_

_“An item.” Sam already didn’t like the sound of it, but he’d done his research well enough to know that Valefor was likely trying to trick him. He was a Duke of Hell, which was no lowly position. He’d never heard of Sargatanas, and wondered if any of that was true._

_“Yes. It’s a small box, and it has been lost to time. The contents would greatly help me. If you can bring me this box, I will fulfill my end of your deal.” Valefor smiled broadly. “Is this acceptable to you?”_

_Sam stayed quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. If he could find the box and get Valefor to agree to the deal, then maybe…“Yes,” he said finally, nodding. “I think we can work it out.”_

_“Fantastic.” Something gold glinted as it caught the moonlight overhead, landing on the ground directly in front of Sam’s feet. “Bring that with you the next time we meet.”_

_He bent down and picked up a small golden coin, smooth and unremarkable save for a symbol he didn’t recognize in the dead center on both sides. “What for?”_

_“A reminder of our deal. Surely you realize how many humans I deal with at any given time.” Valefor snarled slightly at the word ‘humans’ but Sam ignored it._

_“Do you have any clues for me as to where this box might be located?”_

_“As I said, it has been lost to time.” Valefor tilted his head. “But surely_ you _can find something. Perhaps you should look into your archives. Until next time, Sam Winchester.”_

_Sam blinked and he was standing alone in the field, his hand throbbing from the earlier cut._

**_S_ ** _lowly opening the door to the motel, Sam stuck his head inside, immediately greeted by Dean’s snoring coming from the far bed. He smiled and carefully crept inside, closed the door behind him, and felt his way towards the bathroom. Without turning on the light he managed to rip a small towel located on the sink and wrapped a small piece around his palm, knotting it. He made his way over to the bed and collapsed on top, not caring if the squeaking of the bedsprings woke up Dean; he would likely sleep through it anyway._

_He closed his eyes, thinking back over the events of the past couple of hours. He shifted and felt the coin slip out of his pocket, but was too exhausted to hide it or put it back. Sleep quickly overtook him and soon enough, he was unconscious, breathing lightly._

**_D_ ** _ean shifted, remembering to interrupt his snoring as though he were actually asleep, facing the other bed. He cracked open an eye and watched as Sam appeared to fall asleep nearly instantly._

_Where the hell had he_ been _? Dean had fallen asleep somewhere around one a.m., having gotten bored of the crap shows on the television, and Sam was already out like a light. When he woke up just after three, Sam was gone. Naturally he’d been concerned and left to go search for him._

_Sam really needed to get better at covering his tracks; Dean had been able to follow his footprints in the dry dirt just as easily as if they’d been hunting shifters, which wasn’t usually very hard either. He’d found him standing out in a field a couple miles away, performing some sort of summoning ritual. He had to hide quite a ways away in order to not be seen, crouching down behind a stack of wind turbine equipment; apparently whoever owned the field was working on converting to wind power. Good for them. How environmentally forward-thinking._

_He couldn’t hear a word, but already didn’t trust whoever Sam had summoned; he looked foreign, Italian maybe, and obviously shifty, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out_ why _Sam had needed, or_ wanted _, to summon a demon. He watched them talk for a few minutes, but decided to leave before he was seen, and jogged back to the motel, settling into his bed once again._

_Eventually Sam snuck back into the room and got into bed, and Dean listened to his steady breathing fill the room. He wanted so badly to wake him up and start demanding answers, but knew that wasn’t the way to approach things. He flipped over and stared at Sam, narrowing his eyes. A small golden coin was lying on the bed just outside his jeans pocket, and he waited a moment before sitting up and reaching over to pick it up._

_Turning it over in his hand, he saw some sort of symbol carved into the surface, but it was too dark in the room to really make it out. Sam snorted in his sleep and he shoved the coin into his own pocket, leaning back against his pillow._

_He could figure it out later. After he was finished grilling Sammy for details._


	3. Sillyworld

Part Three: “Sillyworld”

 

_Dean looked over at Sam, who was standing next to the hood of the Impala, a map spread out over the hood. He was trying to pinpoint where exactly they needed to go, based on the weak information provided by the locals about recent murders in the area._

_Sam’s hair caught the high afternoon sun and practically shone, and he reached up to smooth some of it away from his eyes as he concentrated. Dean smiled and imagined reaching up to push his hair away, looking into his eyes—_

_“Stop that,” he said quietly, trying to quell whatever the hell train of thought_ that _was_. _What the hell was_ wrong _with him lately? He hadn’t been able to look Sam in the face for the past couple of days without feeling awkwardly uncomfortable. It had been nearly a week since he’d caught Sam sneaking back from summoning a demon, and he hadn’t found the right opportunity to interrogate him for details._

_“You okay, man?”_

_He looked over at Sam, who had a concerned look in his eye. “Yeah, uh, fine. Let’s get going. Do you know where we’re…well, going?” he asked as he opened the driver’s side door and slid into the car, gripping the wheel._

_“About eighty miles south of here,” Sam replied, sliding into the car, settling in next to him._

_“Why won’t you tell me what this wild goose chase is all about? I’d really appreciate having some backstory for all the gas we’re wasting.” Dean tried to keep the bitter edge out of his voice, but knew he was failing._

_“I told you not to worry about it. It’s just a lead I got from one of our other hunter sources. Sounded intriguing. Don’t you like adventures? Just let me handle it, okay?”_

_“Yeah. Sure.” He started the engine and they drove off._

 

**_S_ ** _am shifted in his seat, trying to get the seatbelt unfastened. He instinctively reached into his pocket as he slid out of the Impala and his hand came out empty. Didn’t he have the coin in there? He thought for a moment and realized he hadn’t seen it since the night he summoned Valefor, but pushed away the nagging worry in his head. He’d probably tucked it away in his bag on his way to bed that morning; he hadn’t been thinking clearly lately, but it wasn’t a big deal._

_“Are you sure you’re okay?”_

_He looked across the top of the car at Dean, who was giving him the raised-eyebrow concerned brother look. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”_

_“You’ve been really weird lately. What’s up with you?” Dean slammed his door shut and walked around the front of the car, hands on his hips._

_“Nothing.”_

_“Come on, Sammy. Stop lying to me.”_

_“I’m not lying!”_

_“Why are we here? Who gave you this supposed lead?”_

_“Just a contact. I told you, I’d handle it.”_

_“Yeah, because_ that _fills me with confidence.” Dean stalked off towards the diner they’d parked at, grumbling something under his breath._

_Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to tell Dean what was going on, but knew he’d never understand his reasons for doing what he’d done. He followed after him, pulling open the diner door to step inside. His stomach instantly cramped with hunger at the scent of fresh eggs and coffee. Dean waved to him from a corner booth and he walked over, settling in, taking the menu Dean offered him._

**_A_ ** _few days later they were checking in to yet another motel, the lead having been a dead end after all. Sam still refused to tell him what it was all about, but he’d stopped pestering him when he threatened Dean with a knife to shut up and leave him alone._

_Sam glanced over at Dean, who was twirling something between his fingers as they walked to the motel room. The light from the moon overhead caught it and he recognized it as the small coin Valefor had given him after the summoning. He’d assumed he’d lost it somewhere by then and hadn’t been greatly concerned, but he wanted to know why_ Dean _had it all of a sudden._

_“Hey,” he said, walking quickly to catch up to Dean as they strode towards their room. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing towards his hand, acting as though he didn’t recognize it from the short distance._

_Dean shrugged and tucked it into his pocket, shaking his head. “Nothing. Come on, we should get some sleep.”_

_“It’s still early—I’m going to do some more research.” Sam patted his backpack from underneath, smiling. “Surely there’s something else I can dig up, right?”_

_“Yeah, sure. More research on this mystery lead. Break a leg.” Dean was barely paying any attention to him, and Sam shrugged to himself as he watched him unlock the motel room door, pushing it open. They quickly got themselves situated in their normal manner, Dean settling into the far bed, Sam already seated at the table, pulling his laptop out of his backpack to power it on._

 

**_“H_ ** _ey, Sam. Can I…” Dean hesitated for a second, but steeled himself and lifted his chin. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”_

_Sam looked up from his laptop and nodded, partially closing the lid and turning so he could look at Dean with full attention. “Of course. What’s up?”_

_“You know what?” Dean looked at him, his eyes traveling up his long, lean legs covered in thick denim, meeting his standard red-and-white thinly-striped shirt. The top couple of buttons were undone, the collar pushed away just enough that he could almost see his anti-possession tattoo underneath the ironed edge of the fabric. “Never mind,” he finished, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”_

_“Come on, you can tell me anything.” Sam’s voice was even, curious, caring. Dean sighed and walked a little closer to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, keeping a few feet away from him._

_“I don’t… I don’t know how to say it,” he said, feeling embarrassment creeping up his cheeks._

_“Dean, you know how much shit we’ve been through together. Come on, just tell me.” His eyes were pleading, in a way. There was a hint of curiosity in them from which Dean couldn’t look away._

_“The past week or so, I’ve—” He broke off for a moment, searching for the right words. Sam remained quiet, leaning forward slightly, his elbow on the table as he supported his chin with his fist. “I’ve—well, started feeling…_ differently _.”_

_Sam arched an eyebrow. “Are you turning into a girl or something? What do you mean?”_

_“Shut up. I mean… I’ve had these feelings, about… you.”_

_“Feelings?” Sam repeated._

_“Yeah. Like…_ fuck _, I can’t do this. Sorry. Just forget it.” He looked away, fidgeting, trying to think of a plausible excuse to get out of there, far away, far from all this._

_“No, wait.”_

_Dean looked back over at Sam, who wasn’t laughing or angry or anything he had expected. He looked…_ relieved _, almost, if he had to choose a word to describe the expression on Sam’s face._

_“Yeah?” he said, feeling as though someone had knocked the wind out of him._

_“Don’t… just, don’t leave, okay?”_

_Dean didn’t know what to say. “Leave?”_

_“Look, I know that it was hard for you to admit, so…yeah, don’t leave. Stay. We’ll talk it through.”_

_He stood up, clenching his fingers into a tight fist three times in rapid succession, trying to cease the adrenaline running throughout his body. “I’ll stay,” he agreed._

_“Good.” Sam leaned back slightly, looking relieved. “I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”_

_“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding a little. He took a deep breath, a smile spreading across his lips. “I don’t want to do anything stupid, either. I mean…except this.”_

_He crossed the short gap of carpet between them and leaned down, pressing his lips against Sam’s forcefully. He took control immediately and reached up with his left hand, winding his fingers into Sam’s hair, gripping the strands tightly. Sam’s lips worked against his, fighting for dominance, and he felt his tongue slide over his own. He could feel his jeans growing tighter as his right hand wrapped around Sam’s back, hooking underneath his arm so he could help him to his feet._

_Dean had momentarily forgotten how tall Sam was; the guy was a moose in comparison to himself, and they stopped kissing as Sam stood up straight, his hands locked around Dean’s shoulders, hands pressed against his back. He grinned down at Dean and tilted his head, connecting their lips once more. One of his hands began to trail down Dean’s back, the heat from his fingers bleeding through his t-shirt, sliding around his side to caress his stomach, lifting up the thin fabric. Dean let out a gasp through Sam’s teeth, twisting their tongues closer together as Sam’s hand slipped underneath his waistband, pressing his hand against Dean’s full erection._

 

 ** _“W_** _hat the_ fuck _?!”_

 _Dean sat up, realizing he was still in his shitty bed at the latest motel, sweating profusely. He lifted up the sheet to see that he was, indeed, fully aroused, and quickly shoved the sheet back down over his waist, as though that was going to solve the problem—_ couldn’t see it, wasn’t there _, according to his current train of logic._

_A snort caught his attention and he looked over at the other bed, seeing Sam completely dead to the world, snoring heavily. He let out a sigh of relief and relaxed against his pillow, feeling the excitement of the dream draining out of him._

_He should have been mortified, unable to live with himself. He should have never had thoughts like that—they were_ wrong _. He should have felt ashamed._

 _Then how come he_ didn’t _?_

**_“H_ ** _ey, Dean?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_The car ride had been mostly silent, since Dean couldn’t bear to look at Sam thanks to his dream the night before. Sam kept trying to start conversations, but he hated hearing Sam’s voice, every time mentally teleporting to their dream chat._

_“You think you could stop the car?”_

_Dean heaved a sigh and spun the steering wheel, guiding the car to the side of the road. He pulled up the parking break and leaned back in his seat, glancing over at Sam. He looked pale and scared, and Dean frowned._

_“What’s up?”_

_“Look, I…“ Sam closed his eyes and leaned forward, his hands clutching his knees. “I just need to say it and get it out.”_

_“Then say it.”_

_“I summoned a demon and made a deal.”_

_That was what Dean needed to hear; his worst fears were officially confirmed._


	4. It's Not Because Of You

Part Four: “It’s Not Because Of You”

 

He’d had an hour to cool off, walking around the motel and the surrounding forest to clear his head. Since it was the middle of the night, no one was around to bother him, which was nice. Upon reentering their motel room, he found Sam sitting on one of the beds, staring into space. He knocked on the wall by the door and Sam looked behind him, appearing dazed.

“Ready to talk yet?” Dean asked, walking over to the other bed. He sat on the edge and kicked off his boots as Sam shrugged, idly playing with a thread trailing out of his sleeve.

“I guess.”

“Good. Then let’s get to it.” Dean cleared his throat, leaning forward, settling his forearms along his thighs. He clasped his hands together and looked Sam square in the face. “Why’d you do it?”

“I did it for _you_ ,” Sam replied, locking eyes with him. “I did it for _both_ of us.”

“ _What_ did you _do_ , exactly?”

As Sam explained the specifics of summoning Valefor and making a deal for Dean’s extended life and happiness, he felt the blood drain from his face, and his heart nearly stopped. Sam had willingly given up his own future, his _life_ for him—but _why_? Why, after all they’d been through together, was he doing this _now_?

Finally Sam finished talking, and Dean exhaled slowly, trying to process everything. They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither sure of what to say.

“You’re a _special_ kind of _fucking stupid_ , you know that?”

Sam shook his head. “Look, I deserve that, I know. But can we try to figure out what to do now?”

“You got yourself into this mess—no, you got _us_ into this mess. I don’t know how to fix things.”

“I’m _sorry_ —”

“Because _apologizing_ to me is gonna make _all this go away_?!” Dean reached out and jabbed a finger against Sam’s chest, watching him wince.

“I don’t know what else to _say_ , Dean.”

“Then don’t say anything. I’ve heard your ‘explanation’ and I don’t really want to hear any more.” He stood up and stretched his arms above his head, winding his fingers together so he could hopefully avoid acting on his impulse to smack Sam upside the head. “I’m going to go on a walk.”

“You just got back from one.”

“Yeah, well, I need some space, okay? Deal with it.” Dean shuffled over to his boots and pulled them back on, quickly tying off the laces. He grabbed his jacket from the table and shrugged in on, leaving the motel room without glancing back.

 

 **“C** an you hear me?”

Dean was crouched down in the dirt at the edge of the parking lot of the motel, tracing random, meaningless patterns along the ground. To anyone else, it might have looked as though he’d gone crazy and was talking to himself.

“Look, I need some help here, Cas. I don’t know what to do.”

He glanced up at the sky, but heard nothing; not a whisper, a flutter of wings, nothing. Dean sighed and stood up, kicking his boot along the dirt to wipe away evidence of his being there.

“I hope you’re listening, that everything is okay with you. But if you can find some time to drop by, we’d really appreciate it.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Okay. Talk to you later, I guess.”

He turned and started walking back to their motel room, muttering to himself about the laziness of angels.

 

 **S** am was the first to awake the next morning, and remained in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was flaking away in multiple sections, and if other, much more pressing matters hadn’t filled his head, he’d start to worry about possible asbestos in the ceiling, or worse. But he couldn’t think about that stuff now; it didn’t really matter, anyway.

“Hey,” came Dean’s gruff morning voice a short while later. Sam glanced over, still lying in bed with his hands behind his head (the pillow was much too thin to be an effective backrest), and saw Dean cracking one eye open from the bright sun streaming through the shitty, much-too-thin motel curtains.

“Hey,” he replied. “Get some sleep?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

They studied each other for a few seconds, each waiting to see if the other would crack. Soon the silence was unbearable and Dean crawled out from under the sheets, reaching for his pants.

“Gonna shower.”

“Okay.”

He disappeared into the small bathroom and slammed the door behind him. The water began running a minute later. Sam sighed and swung his legs off the bed, reaching for his shirt that had fallen from the table to the floor. He hadn’t bothered to fully undress the night before. He hadn’t seen the point, figuring that Dean was going to come back from his walk to demand that they leave right away. He hadn’t, which surprised Sam, but not too much—Dean may be impulsive, but instinct usually kicked in relatively quickly, and they both knew it was stupid to leave in the middle of the night. He pulled the thick cloth over his head and buttoned the front, remaining seated on the bed. He didn’t know what else to do but wait.

Dean emerged from the bathroom a short time later, hair still damp, fully dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He motioned towards the door and Sam nodded, standing up. They began gathering up their clothes and things lying around the room to shove them in their bags. Soon they were packed and Sam had the laptop under his arm when someone knocked at the door, interrupting their forced silence.

“You think the credit card declined?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean shrugged and set down his bag, walking over to the door. He slid open the latch and turned the doorknob, opening the cracked wooden door to reveal Castiel standing outside, his trademark unreadable expression covering his face.

“Cas!” Sam blurted out, rushing over to the door. Castiel tilted his head at him and smiled slightly.

“Hello, Sam. And Dean,” he added, almost sounding embarrassed. Dean grinned and reached out, grabbing his hand to pull him inside. Castiel stumbled through the doorway, seemingly lacking his usual stoic posture.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Castiel followed suit and sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, shifting back and forth a little. Dean pulled up a chair in front of them and turned it around, draping his arms over the back of it.

“I heard your prayers,” Castiel replied, looking down at his hands as he twisted them together. “I found some information that may be helpful.”

Sam frowned. “Prayers? I don’t—”

“What sort of information, Cas?” Dean interrupted, careful not to look over at Sam, who was probably glaring at him by then.

“A lead, as you would call it. About a demonic box, one that has been sealed for centuries and no one has been able to open. It’s in a small town about four hundred miles northwest of here. I’ve marked it on this map.” He reached into a pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a small, folded map, handing it to Sam, who tucked it in his back pocket.

“No way! That’s fantastic!” Dean clapped his hands once roughly, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s get on the road right now; we can make it by nightfall if we don’t stop.”

“I would suggest it.”

Sam coughed to clear his throat, and the other two looked over at him. “Hey, this is kind of awkward, but Cas…is everything okay with you?”

Dean glanced back over at Castiel, who was once more looking down at the floor. “Did something happen?” he asked, the realization finally dawning on him that Castiel was indeed acting strangely.

“I guess I forgot to mention that I know more about your deal with Valefor than you realize,” Castiel replied quietly, refusing to look up at either of them.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I was there, Sam. I watched you make your deal. I watched you trade away your happiness, your future. And I understand what you were trying to do; I know how close you two are. I understand your reasons. But you were wrong to do such a thing.”

“ _Thank_ you, that’s what I’ve been telling him—” Dean started, but Castiel finally looked up, silencing him with a look.

“It was wrong of you to do such a thing…” He hesitated, locking eyes with Dean, “especially if there was some way I could save both of you.”

The silence was deafening as the brothers absorbed what Castiel had said. “What…what exactly do you _mean_ , Cas? What did you _do_?” Sam stood up, the air around him practically tangible with anger.

“I only did what I could,” Castiel said, his voice heavy with sadness.

Sam towered over Castiel, his hands balled up into tight fists. Dean could see his veins straining just underneath the skin of his forearms, like he was about to let loose a punch. “ _What did you do, Castiel_?!”

“I couldn’t let Valefor trick you. I made my own deal with him so he would let you out of your own deal. He was going to drag you both to hell, Sam—you don’t know who you’re dealing with.” His words were pleading, his eyes squeezed shut, looking nothing like the calm, collected angel they had both come to know so well. “Valefor is a high-ranking demon whose specialty is tricking people and dragging them to the gallows. There was no way he was going to just let Dean go once he knew who he was dealing with—the infamous Winchesters.”

“I…I can’t fucking _believe_ this,” Sam said through gritted teeth, his fists still clenched. “Because you _assumed_ I fucked up, you thought you could just _fix everything_ —”

“That’s enough, Sam.”

The two of them looked over at Dean, who had remained silent the entire discussion. “I’m sorry,” Castiel said quietly, averting his gaze.

“Stop apologizing. What’s done is done. Sam, you should follow up on the lead. See if it turns up Valefor’s box.”

“But—”

“Castiel obviously needs time to regroup. This is _your_ thing—you should be the one to find the box. I’ll stay here with Cas and hold down the fort. We’ll be fine. If you leave now you’ll make it there by nighttime and you can be back in a couple of days.”

“I’m not going to just _leave_ ,” Sam argued.

Dean shook his head. “Someone needs to, and I could use a couple days to myself, if I’m being honest. So get going. Take the Impala.” He dug into his pocket and withdrew his keys, tossing them over to Sam, who caught them with a bewildered look on his face. “And God help you if you scratch her.”

Sam stood still for a moment, staring at Dean as though trying to communicate telepathically, and finally gave up, turning his back on the two of them. He grabbed his bag and laptop and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. The engine roar of the Impala ripped through the thin walls a minute later, followed by the rough sound of tires on gravel, and within ten seconds Castiel and Dean were standing silently in the motel room, staring each other down.

“Do you want to explain the _real_ reason for doing what you did?” Dean asked calmly, trying to control the rage boiling through his veins, threatening to explode to the surface.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel replied, standing up to be face-to-face with Dean.

“Bullshit. It’s just us, Cas. Tell me.”

“I’m _tired_ , Dean,” he replied, looking him straight in the eye.

“I’m tired too,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes. “That doesn’t mean—”

“I’m tired of being the angel that you two rely on,” Castiel interrupted, unblinking. “I’m tired of being an all-powerful being that everyone needs for their dirty work. I’m tired of the constant loss I face with no reprieve—brothers, sisters, people I thought were my friends; my superiors, those underneath me, no one respects me. I’m _tired_ , Dean,” he repeated. “Of the fear of falling, of the weight of being someone’s salvation, of _everything_. I am no longer worthy to have such responsibilities.”

“What are you saying, Cas? You’re an _angel_ —”

“I’ve always been envious of you, do you know that?” Castiel finally blinked, and Dean could see tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “I was jealous that _you_ could _mess up_ , that _you_ were _human_ —no matter what you did, I _forgave_ you, because that was my _job_. I don’t want it to be my _job_ to care about you, Dean. I want to be helpful to _you_ — _both_ of you—in any other way but a _job_. Do you understand?”

“I guess, but—”

Castiel looked away, raising a hand to swipe at his eyes, struggling to regain his composure. “I would like to rest,” he said, sounding exhausted. “May I use one of the beds?”

“Pick one.”

He returned to Dean’s bed, crawling on top of the comforter, closing his eyes as his head hit the pillow. He was fast asleep in what seemed like seconds, leaving Dean still standing, looking down at him. He could feel tears in his own eyes and he quickly blinked them away, shoving his hands in his pockets. His fingers touched on the small golden coin hidden away in his right pocket and he pushed it further down into the fabric, trying to shove certain thoughts out of his head.

Even if he hadn’t said it aloud, Dean could read subtext better than most.

Castiel had given up being an angel. How could he possibly ever repay that?

 

 **E** very time Dean tried to talk over the next couple of days, Castiel would change the topic to something unimportant, like what to eat for lunch or complaints about the lack of interesting shows on the television. Whenever he did so, Dean would get frustrated, but would ultimately drop whatever he wanted to talk about, leaving Castiel to stew in his self-righteous silence. They ate on separate ends of the room, neither looking at the other. Castiel remained sleeping in Dean’s bed while he took Sam’s. He never ended up getting any sleep the first night, plagued by memories of his previous dream.

The second night didn’t fare any better, either.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat at four in the morning, eyes wide open, lying on his side facing Castiel, who was fast asleep. Dean had dreamed that he was sleeping in the other bed with him, holding him carefully, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as Castiel drifted off to sleep, whispering in his ear that he was glad he’d chosen to fall from Heaven so they could be together. Castiel had replied in a soothing, sleepy voice that he had only done it for Dean, and they shared a tender kiss. It had been one of the most peaceful dreams he’d had in recent memory, and shook him to his core.

As though sensing something was off, Castiel had awoken shortly after Dean, seeing him wide awake. He’d asked what was wrong, but Dean just said he’d had a nightmare and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. He never did, his mind racing as he replayed the dream, biting his lip as he squeezed his eyes shut.

It wasn’t the same as the dream he’d had about Sam. That felt _wrong_ , even though it hadn’t in the moment. Afterwards he could still identify it as being wrong. But with Castiel…something was different. It _felt_ different—it wasn’t immediate lust. It was calming, soothing, the same feelings he’d shared with Lisa once upon a time.

But this was _Castiel_. He was their _friend_ , one with whom he happened to share a complicated past, the angel who was now only a man. Though, wasn’t that how the best relationships started? First as friends, blossoming into something more?

He’d balled up a fist and punched himself roughly in the arm, trying to halt his thoughts. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily, and the fresh throbbing pain in his arm wasn’t going to help, but at least it had given him something to focus on. He could hear Castiel’s even breathing coming from the other bed behind him and buried his head more deeply into the pillow, attempting to drown out the sound.

 

 **S** am called one of their disposable phones on the third day he’d been gone, saying he had located something that might be the box that Valefor needed, and that he would be home in a couple of days. He’d never been very good at staying disciplined enough to stay on the road for long stretches of time, and would probably end up getting a motel room halfway back.

“Is Sam on his way back?” Castiel asked as he watched Dean hang up the phone and tuck it into one of the many side pockets of his duffel bag.

“Yeah. He’ll be back in a couple days.” He glanced at the small clock on the table between the two beds. “I’m gonna shower and clear my head. Why don’t you go get us some snacks from the vending machine?” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it to pull a few singles from inside. Castiel held out his hand and he passed over the bills, their fingers touching briefly. Dean dropped his hand quickly and cleared his throat. “Chips are fine by me. Get whatever you want.”

“Dean, can we talk?”

“Later, I’m starving. Go.” He gestured towards the door, but Castiel stood his ground.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“About what, Cas?” he said, exasperated.  A headache was coming on and he could already feel his brain pulsating against the back of his skull. Lack of decent sleep was really getting to him.

“Why won’t you talk to me, or even _look_ at me?”

He shrugged, still looking at the bathroom door. “You’re the one who’s been ignoring _me,_ I don’t know what you’re—”

“Stop acting like I’m a fool, Dean.” Castiel sounded hurt. Dean sighed and moved his head to see Castiel staring at him, his usual stoic expression on his face.

“You’re not a _fool_ , Cas. I’m sorry. I just…I’m under a lot of stress, okay?”

“Yes, we _all_ are. Some more than others.” It didn’t need to be said aloud. Dean could already hear his voice saying the words in a condescending tone: _Some of us are dealing with some heavy life-altering shit, and you’re not making it any easier._

“Sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology. I merely want the truth.”

“Not right now, okay? I need some time to myself.”

“That’s all you’ve _had_ over the past couple of days, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, I need _more time_ , so just drop it!” He stalked off towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He started the water running in the sink and leaned against the counter, gripping the edge of the stained linoleum, glaring at himself in the smudged mirror. He heard the front door open and close and let out a long sigh, staring down into the small pool of water forming in the half-clogged sink. The dirty, swirling water was a startlingly accurate reflection of him at the moment.


	5. Uncomfortably Numb

Part Five: “Uncomfortably Numb”

 

_Why couldn’t I just tell him the truth?_

Castiel was seated on the floor in front of the television, staring up at the blank screen. It hadn’t been turned on in hours, not since Dean had left, before the sun had begun to set. He had dug out a bottle of whiskey from his duffel bag and swaggered off into the oncoming darkness, sternly telling Castiel to stay put. The same question had been churning in his mind since, turned over and over until he was exhausted from trying to think of a sufficient answer.

And now it was eight hours later, the middle of the night. Castiel finally stood up and looked around the room, wondering if he should go out and search for Dean.

It wasn’t like he was an angel anymore and could just apparate to wherever he was needed. He would have to physically go out searching, and wasn’t sure where to even start, because he didn’t know the area. But they didn’t know that, and he couldn’t tell them. He had to keep up the façade.

He was still wearing his trench coat, practically a second skin after so many years, and was reaching for the doorknob of the motel room door when it opened from the other side, swinging in towards him. He stepped back, startled to see Sam on the other side, his other hand wrapped around a small box the size of a pack of cigarettes.

“Cas?”

He nodded, stepping out of the way. “Welcome back, Sam,” he greeted. Sam raised an eyebrow and walked into the room, carefully setting the box on the table near the door. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair, looking around.

“Where’s Dean?” he asked, sounding worried.

“He went for a walk,” Castiel replied, having learned enough from their interactions to remain vague until more information was discovered. “He should be back soon.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Where could he have gone?”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a loud crash just outside the door. Sam ran over and swung the door open, stepping outside. Dean was sprawled on the sidewalk, the once-full whisky now an empty bottle in his hand, his fingers gripping the slim neck as though it were an anchor.

“Dean, what the _hell_?” Sam pulled him to his feet and got him inside, helping him stumble over to his bed. He shook his head and pushed his way over to Sam’s bed, collapsing on top of the comforter.

“I sleep _here_ now,” he slurred, glaring over at Castiel, who was standing at the foot of the bed watching them. “Sorry ‘bout that. Blame _him_ ,” he said, pointing at Castiel.

“I guess I’ve been sleeping in Dean’s bed,” he explained, trying to ignore the burning look Dean was giving him. “He never said.”

“Yeah, _Goldilocks_.” Dean laughed, which ended up turning into a hacking cough. He finally released his hold on the bottle and it clattered to the floor, bouncing once on the ragged carpet before rolling underneath the bed. “Takin’ people’s beds, how uncool.”

“Dean, you’re _wasted_ —”

“Thanks, Captain _Obvious_!” He saluted, which pushed Sam over whatever edge of composure he’d been balancing on. He reached out and roughly slapped Dean’s cheek, letting out a string of curses as Dean tumbled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in shock.

“ _Sam_!”

He turned to face Castiel, who was in the middle of reaching out towards Dean, but stopped when he saw the look on Sam’s face. He recoiled, stepping back. Sam whirled back around and reached out to grab Dean’s collar, hoisting him up to stare directly into his whiskey-soaked grin.

“Don’t you _dare_ act as though this is a fucking _joke_ ,” Sam hissed. Dean’s gaze remained steady, staring back at him through half-lidded eyes. “I’m putting my fucking _life_ on the line for you, and you’re out getting _drunk_ like the fucking _asshole you are_!”

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t do the same, you self-righteous _prick_ ,” Dean replied, blinking slowly.

“ _Stop_ _it_!”

They both turned their heads to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. “You two are acting like _children_ ,” he began, shaking his head. “Neither of you have actually spoken to the other about your true feelings towards this situation, have you? You’re both reacting to invisible slights, to perceived pain from the other—you need to collect yourselves and figure out your problems like _adults_!”

“Kinda hard when _one_ of us ain’t an adult,” Dean smirked. Sam’s cheeks flushed with anger and he let go of Dean’s collar, dropping him back onto the bed. He bounced against the covers and laughed as Sam sat down on the other bed.

“I don’t know what I have to do to prove to you that I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” Sam said angrily.

“Why do you have to _prove_ anything t’me?” Dean shook his head, still smiling. “You’re not even a kid anymore, Sammy. You’re more like…an old man, y’know?” He laughed again.

“No, I _don’t_ know!”

“You’re so _careful_ all the damn time,” Dean said, sitting up slowly. “You’ve gotta let go, man, see things for the _fun_ they _are_ sometimes. Stop tryin’ to save everyone _else_ for once.”

“Because you’ve got _such_ experience in that area,” Sam replied, his tone full of condescension.

“Whatever, man,” Dean mumbled. “Anyone got a drink? I think someone stole my bottle.”

“ _Fuck_ , Dean.” Sam stood up and stalked over to the door, opening it in a wide motion and slamming it behind him.

Dean looked over at Castiel, who was still standing a few feet away, glaring down at him with contempt. “What?” he asked irritably.

“Go fix it.”

“Fix _what_?”

“Your relationship with your _brother_ , for God’s sake.” Castiel sighed, exasperated. He was beginning to understand why humans were so surly all the time; it had been less than a week, and he was already near the end of his patience.

“I don’t think you should be saying stuff like that—”

“Go find him. _Fix it_.”

Dean shrugged and barely managed to stand up, swaying back and forth, trying to find his center of balance. He fell to the floor and glanced around, a look of surprise flashing over his face as he reached towards the empty liquor bottle just underneath the bed. Finally he stood and stumbled over to the doorway and left the motel room, leaving Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, shaking his head.

 

 **“H** ey, wait up!”

Sam turned on his heel, watching Dean drunkenly stumbling over to him through a field a half mile away from the motel. He could barely walk straight, and was still holding onto the empty bottle of whiskey.

“What do you want?” Sam asked, having only calmed down a little bit in the few minutes he’d had alone.

“God, you’re so _fast_ for such a big guy,” Dean complained, throwing the whiskey bottle to the side. It crashed against the rock-hard earth and shattered, covering the ground with shards of glass, the few precious drops of leftover whiskey bleeding into the dirt. “Aw, man, there was still some _left_?”

“Fuck, Dean, be _more_ of an alcoholic, why don’t you?”

“Shut up, dick.” Dean struggled to stand and finally grabbed onto the hem of Sam’s shirt, half-yanking him down as he righted himself. Sam pushed him away as he found his center of gravity, glaring at him.

“What do you want?”

Dean started digging around in his pocket, looking down at the ground. “We should get the dude here and get shit over with,” he mumbled.

Sam cocked his head, trying to decipher the drunken words. “We should summon Valefor? Yeah, genius idea. I guess you noticed I brought back the mystery box he wanted.”

“Yeah. So do it. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going to summon him _right this second_ , you asshole!”

“Why not? We got nothin’ else goin’ on right now.”

“Because Cas should be here, and because I’m not exactly in the mood to deal with a demon summoning right now!”

“Did you make the deal to make up for something?”

Sam flinched, watching as Dean seemed to sober up enough to be serious. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Dean reached out and grabbed a handful of Sam’s shirt, twisting the fabric around his hand until it was in a tight ball. He pulled him close and stared up at him, and Sam noticed his eyes weren’t as glazed over as they had been before. “Did you sacrifice your soul because of stupid guilt or somethin’?” His other hand pulled out a small, golden, flat object from his pocket and he held it up in front of Sam’s face. “And what exactly is this thing? Is it what you use to call him here?”

“I don’t know what that is, but how did you—whatever, I just—” Sam tried to break away, but Dean’s grip was ironclad. “I don’t—I don’t know, okay? For whatever reason, I feel like you deserve to have a longer, happier life than you already have, you know? _Despite_ how you’re acting lately.”

Dean scowled, blinking tiredly. “Who are _you_ to tell me how to live _my_ life?”

“Your brother, who _cares_ about you? You fucking dumbass—”

Sam was cut off mid-insult by Dean’s lips pressing firmly against his, and his brain nearly short-circuited, his eyes widening. He watched Dean’s eyes squeeze shut and he started to pull away, but his grip on his shirt was too tight and he couldn’t break away. He waited another few seconds and ripped his head up away from Dean’s, managing to shove him a few feet away in a jerky motion.

“What the _fuck_?!”

Dean stood motionless for a moment, a look of confusion and regret shadowing his features. A few seconds later he threw himself to the ground, doubling over as he began vomiting, coughing and hacking as the whiskey came up, emptying his stomach of the once-amber liquid. He tried to wipe off his mouth on the back of his sleeve, but ended up sputtering some more and gagged as his body forced more out. Sam turned away and dropped to his knees, trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened.

Dean raised his head, trying to relax his body after such an outburst, but he knew he’d fucked up—this wasn’t just a dream he could repress, _this was reality_. What the _fuck_ was he _thinking_? His mouth started to form words, his voice shaky. “Sam—”

“Don’t.”

“Please, Sam—”

“ _No_.” Sam balled up a fist and punched the ground, feeling his body trembling. “Just _stop_.”

“ _Sammy_ —”

“ ** _Stop saying my name_**!” Sam screamed, whirling around as he lunged forward, taking a small step with his right foot. His fist connected with dead air, and as he looked down he realized Dean was passed out on the ground, lying dangerously close to the puddle of vomit next to his head.

 

 **“C** as, get the damn door!”

Castiel looked up from the travel magazine he’d found underneath one of the beds at the sound of Sam’s voice echoing through the thin walls. He stood up and went over to the door, opening it quickly to find Sam dragging Dean’s body beside him, Dean’s arm draped over his shoulders, completely passed out.

Sam pushed their way past Castiel and hauled Dean over to the main part of the room, dumping him onto his original bed, not bothering to check how he landed. He moved towards the bathroom, ignoring Castiel’s questions as he locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the tile floor. His head hit the edge of the tub and he straightened his body to lie more flat, bending his knees so he could fit in the tiny space. He stared up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. He angled his hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out the small gold coin to inspect it more closely.

He’d had no idea when Dean had stolen it from him, but he hadn’t thought about it in days, after noticing it had initially gone missing. Since he hadn’t had it long enough to research it, the meaning behind it had gone ignored. He had time now, but the laptop was out in the main room and he didn’t want to go out to face Castiel. Or _Dean_ , if he’d somehow woken up.

 _Fuck_ , what _was_ that, anyway? Sam sat up suddenly, a wave of nausea washing over his entire body. He shuddered and pulled his legs up, hugging his knees to anchor himself to reality. He couldn’t even put into words the feelings that had torn through his brain as Dean… _did that_ to him, but willing reciprocation definitely wasn’t anywhere near the list.

“Sam?” A firm knock echoed on the door. He shook his head, not ready to see anyone. “Sam, I need your help getting Dean situated in bed.”

“I don’t care.”

“Sam, he’s your _brother_. You should take care of—”

“Leave me _alone_ , Cas!” he shouted, squeezing his eyes shut.

Footsteps away echoed through the door and he laid his head on his knees, trying not to break down. Everything was different now, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

 

 **T** he laptop screen was the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black room, illuminating Sam’s face as he frantically searched specific phrases and vague terms. Finally he hit upon a website that detailed tokens of various demons’ trickery, and he continued searching until he found the picture he’d been seeking.

“This small coin is a common tool of lesser daemons,” he read aloud, whispering just loudly enough to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming. “It curses the intended recipient to experience intense feelings of lust towards those closest to them. This often results in the person taking their own life to escape the pressure of succumbing to such desires, as they are usually directed towards family or close friends. This ensures that their soul goes to Hell or Purgatory, dependent on their particular religion or the specific daemon’s wishes. The token is smooth with the exception of the seal of the specific greater daemon which they serve. Click here for more information on greater deamons.”

He leaned back in the chair, turning the coin over in his hand a few times, studying the seal. A moment later he clicked on the link, bringing up a page full of images. Finally he found the one that matched the one on the coin and studied it until he was positive they matched.

“This is the seal of Sargatanas, a Grand Brigadier Major of Hell. He controls many lesser daemons and is often associated with Valefor, also known as Malephar, a Duke under his command, a trickster daemon.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at Dean, who was still fast asleep and likely well on his way to an impressive hangover. “You idiot,” he said quietly, looking back down at the coin, the symbol shining from the laptop glow.


	6. The Devil's Orchard

Part Six: “The Devil’s Orchard”

 

“Oh _god_.”

The _hangovers_.  _That’s_ why he shouldn’t drink so much. Every time he thought he could handle whiskey, it always proved him wrong.

“Dean?”

He cracked an eye open and looked over to his right to see Castiel sitting on a chair beside his bed, his eyes half-closed with sleep. Castiel’s face lit up with relief and he leaned forward, placing a hand on the bed.

“I’m fine,” Dean mumbled, rolling over to face away from him. His head was splitting.

“I’m glad. You’ve been asleep all day. You weren’t doing well last night.”

“I don’t even _remember_ last night.”

He heard Castiel sigh heavily. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Did something happen?” He didn’t like the concern that was obviously present in Castiel’s voice.

Before he could reply, Sam cleared his throat from the opposite side of the room, and he recognized the familiar sound of keys being tapped at on his ever-present laptop. “You got really wasted and passed out. I had to drag your ass into bed. Speaking of, you should lay off the fast food.” He stood up and walked over to loom over Dean, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was focused on the clock on the table nearby. “Get up. We’re going to summon Valefor and get this over with.”

Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. “Can’t we wait? This is a _killer_ hangover.”

“Do you _really_ not remember last night?”

“I remember getting drunk, and then waking up just now. Did I fuck up or something?” He moved the pillow away slightly, glancing up at Sam, who still wasn’t looking at him. “Come on, if I did something I should know about, tell me. I’d rather face the shame now. Did I get naked and dance to pop music again?”

Sam shook his head. “Just get up. Nothing happened.” A shade of crimson crept across his cheeks and he turned away, heading for the bathroom. “Hurry up,” he called over his shoulder, the door closing behind him a few seconds later.

Dean rolled onto his other side to face Castiel, who raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to get up?” he asked, and Dean let out another groan.

“I’m so _tired_ though—”

“The sooner you get out of this deal, the sooner things can go back to normal. Stop complaining.” Castiel stood up and hit Dean lightly on the shoulder, and he let out a cry of protest. “Let’s go.”

“God, when did you turn into such a dick?” Dean whined, slowly rolling onto his back, reaching up to massage his temples.

“Probably when I started spending so much time with you. Come on.”

He scowled and sat up, glaring at Castiel, whose expression was neutral once again. “ _Fine_.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching his arms high above his head.

Sam emerged from the bathroom about ten minutes later to see Dean sitting at the table, dressed in clean clothes and ready to go, pulling on his shoes. “Ready whenever you are, sunshine,” he said, grinning up at him.

“Shut up.” Sam started digging for his own shoes underneath one of the beds as Dean shrugged over at Castiel, who was standing near the door.

“What’s up _his_ ass?”

“Something physical, perhaps; this _would_ be a likely reason he would be upset—”

“ _No_ , no, stop, it was an expression,” Dean interrupted, grimacing. “You have a lot of things to learn, you know?”

“I suppose. You’ll have to teach me.”

He raised an eyebrow at Castiel’s sudden tiny smirk that curved his lips. “What?”

“Are we ready then?” Sam was at his side a second later, the small box secure in his grip, his duffel bag in his other hand. “I was thinking we’d just go back to the field. Obviously you know where it is, since you followed me.”

“What? I never—” Dean sputtered, but Sam shook his head, cutting him off with a look.

“Not _you_ , dumbass.” He jerked a thumb towards Castiel, who nodded. “He was there after me, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

“We will follow you,” Castiel said, opening the door. Sam pushed past him and started heading for the field a few miles away, leaving him and Dean standing just inside the motel room, looking at each other.

“I understand why you’re concerned,” Castiel said in a low voice. “He _is_ acting strangely.”

“Yeah, right? Let’s get this over with.” He started after Sam, with Castiel right behind him.

 

 **S** am’s blood spattered against the bundled rowan set on the ground, and the smell of incense was thick around the three of them, practically choking Dean. God, he hated incense. It was always the worst scents that were needed for the worst spells.

He listened to Sam finish reciting the spell and started looking around, expecting storm clouds to roll in or thunder to crack across the dark evening sky or something equally sinister to happen. Instead there was only silence, until someone cleared their throat. He looked over at the summoning area and saw a tall man standing there. A stripe of white ran through his dark hair over his right ear, and he was dressed in a midnight-black suit, smirking slightly.

“Good to see you again, Sam.” He tilted his head slightly, shifting his gaze over to Dean. “And is this the infamous Dean?”

Dean scowled. “Hey, I don’t know you, so don’t act like we’re buddies.”

“So have you called me to finish our transaction?” Valefor smiled, appearing more sincere than seconds before. “I see you have fulfilled your end of the deal. Wherever did you find it, might I ask?”

“It doesn’t matter. If I hand this over, you’ll give me your word that Dean will be safe?” Sam looked skeptical, but glanced back to Castiel, who was holding the box.

“Well, there’s a small snag in that plan.”

“What?!”

Valefor smiled broadly, spreading his hands to his sides. “You see, I was prepared to fulfill my end of the bargain, but that was _before_ I was offered _such_ a delicious trade by your friend here.” He gestured towards Castiel, who remained steady, tightening his grip on the box.

“Whatever deal he offered you is independent of mine,” Sam said, taking a small step forward. “Finish our deal, and then we’ll discuss what you agreed to do with Castiel.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that. I already have quite the deal in place with Castiel here. Has he told you the details?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and we’re prepared to counter-offer,” he replied, as though they were discussing buying a used car.

“I’m intrigued. Go on.”

“You’re gonna give Cas back whatever he said he’d trade you, and you can have _my_ soul instead, as well as your precious box. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? The infamous Dean Winchester, serving up his soul on a silver platter.” He kept his gaze steady, unwavering in the face of Valefor’s calm stare.

“Oh, dear. This _is_ awkward.” Valefor moved his hands in front of his waist, winding his fingers together. “Once again, I have to say that I still have a better offer on the table, courtesy of Castiel.”

Castiel looked down at the ground as Dean looked over at him. “What kind of deal?” he asked, mentally willing Castiel to look at him so he could give him the worst look he could imagine at the moment.

“I’ve been permitted to take his angelic essence, in exchange for both of your freedoms.” Valefor’s smile grew slightly wider as a gasp escaped Dean. “I don’t think anything can quite top having access to information straight from Heaven, now can it? Besides, it will give me _such_ great pleasure to see Castiel on my doorstep soon enough.”

“His soul wasn’t _enough_?” Sam asked.

“He had to sweeten the deal for me, as you can imagine, in exchange for letting _both_ Winchesters go free. I have his powers _and_ ownership of his soul, once he departs this life, of course. Which I doubt will be long, given that he’s a pathetic, fragile _human_ now.”

“ _What_?!” Sam glared at Castiel, who slowly looked up at him, his brow creased with worry. He looked at Dean, who was shaking his head slowly. “Dean, did you _know about this_?!”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I’m sorry, Sam. I only did what I needed to do.”

“You gave up your soul _and_ your powersto this asshole?!”

“There’s no need for rudeness. He was well within his rights to say no.”

“Fine, then I’ll—”

Dean reached out and grabbed the box away from Castiel, holding it high overhead. “We’ll destroy your precious _treasure_ unless you let Castiel out of the deal!”

Valefor laughed then, the sharpness grating on their eardrums. “Silly boy, do you really think that box _matters_ to me? I planted it in that little town along with information to locate it because I was _bored_. It was only there to give Sam hope that he had a chance. I was never planning on letting him go _free_ ; I was playing him to break his end of the contract so I could claim his soul. Only when Castiel offered me his _own_ soul in exchange did I reconsider, and I was expecting that—it was all part of the plan. I knew he would be watching over the two of you, and sure enough, only seconds after Sam and I were done, he showed up, practically _begging_ me to take his powers in exchange for you two _pathetic_ kids. His soul is just gravy that I willingly drizzled on top.”

Dean’s vision went blind with rage as he brought his arm down, releasing the small box on the downswing. It smashed against the ground, wooden splinters scattering across the earth, revealing what they had all suspected but had been hoping against—emptiness.

Valefor bowed slightly, the smile still on his lips. “This is quite tiresome. I think I’ll be going now, as there is nothing left for me to deal with here. Pleasure doing business with you three; I sincerely hope I’ll be seeing you soon.” He snapped his fingers and instantly he was gone, leaving the three of them alone in the field.


	7. Deathlike

Part Seven: “Deathlike”

 

The journey back to the motel was long and silent. Usually Castiel would have just spirited them back, doing whatever he used to do with his angelic powers, but this time…this time was different.

Castiel walked behind the brothers, walking more slowly, more deliberately. It was obvious he wasn’t used to being _human_ , as though it was something he could switch on and off before, but the switch was now broken. In turn he _seemed_ broken, and hadn’t spoken during the entire walk.

Finally they reached the motel and Sam opened the door to their room, heading inside. Dean and Castiel followed, and as Castiel closed the door he looked at the brothers, both sitting on their respective beds, heads down in defeat.

“We should regroup and figure out a plan,” Castiel said, settling down onto the floor in front of Dean’s bed.

Sam shook his head. “I’m tired of trying to outthink Valefor,” he said quietly. “I’m _done_.”

“ _Done_?” Dean repeated, his voice heavy with exhaustion as he tossed his jacket over on the floor a few feet away.  “We’re never _done_ , Sammy. We’ve gotta figure this out.”

“No. Not tonight. I’m done.” Sam stood up, smoothing down his shirt. “I saw a small town a few miles away while I was driving back. I’m going to go get wasted.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “ _You_? Wasted?”

“Yeah. And thanks for giving me the heads up about Cas’ powers being gone, you fucking _dick_.” He walked over to the door, not looking back as he opened it and slipped out, leaving without saying another word.

Castiel looked up at Dean, who was staring at the door after his brother. “Are you all right, Dean?”

He shrugged in response, remaining quiet. Castiel slowly got to his feet and sat back down on the edge of the bed next to Dean, swiftly patting his back twice. “Please, Dean. Talk to me.”

Dean shrugged again, looking away from the door, but instead shifting his gaze to settle it on the floor in front of them. Castiel sighed, moving away a couple of inches to give him some space.

“I know you’re upset right now, and I know that it’s mostly directed at me. Dean, you have to talk to me. I want to be sure you’re all right.”

“ _No_ , Cas, I’m not _all right_!” Dean stood up suddenly, nearly knocking Castiel off of the bed. “You gave up everything that made you special, just to protect two lowly humans who don’t matter even a _little_ bit in the long run, not to mention we totally messed everything up, and Sam is out getting drunk and god knows what else because he started all this, and I don’t know how to _fix it_ —”

“I’m not special anymore?”

He stopped ranting, looking down at Castiel. His eyes were wide with shock, processing what Dean had said. “Wait, what?”

“You said I gave up everything that made me special. What do you mean?”

“No, I meant—I mean, Cas, you were an _angel_ of the _lord_ , you know? An _angel_ , and you give all that power up for two lowly humans?” Dean sighed, scratching his forearm distractedly. “I just—I know you’re gonna regret that decision, and if it’s not already tonight, it’ll be soon. I can’t handle the responsibility of that.”

“Dean, you don’t seem to understand.” Castiel stood up and reached out, placing a hand on Dean’s arm, forcing him to look him in the eye. “I didn’t give up my power to save two humans. I sacrificed myself to save two of my _friends_. Do you really not see that?”

“I know we’re _friends_ , that’s not the issue.”

“No, you can’t see the issue because you’re not looking at it the right away. The issue is that two people I care greatly about were in trouble, and there was something I could do to ease their pain. You two mean more to me than you recognize.”

Dean shook his head. “Cas, this is ridiculous. There’s got to be something we can do to get you out of this bullshit deal and get you your powers back, along with your _soul_.”

“I don’t _need_ my power if I have _you_ , Dean,” Castiel said angrily. “You really cannot see what is right in front of you, can you?”

“No, Cas, I see _exactly_ what’s in front of me—someone I love did something extremely _stupid_ and I need to fix it!”

The room fell silent as both men realized what the other had just said. Dean shuffled his feet and stepped back, letting Castiel’s hand drop from its place on his arm.

“Dean—”

“I can’t. Don’t. Please.” His voice was pleading, wavering. He’d fucked up. Again. _This is like Sam all over again_. _This is going to get out of hand—_

“Just—”

“Don’t overthink it. I was just saying things. I didn’t mean that.”

“I’m not overthinking anything, Dean. I’m merely interpreting what you said as truth. When you’re upset, you say the things you mean the most, and I know you well enough by now. Besides, love is a human construct—angels do not see such emotions as being worthy of thought or attention. It is just another reason why I’m grateful to have people such as you in my life, you’ve shown me such things. In addition, emotions cannot discern gender, and it is perfectly acceptable—”

His stream of explanation was cut off by Dean’s lips against his, their bodies pushed together. Castiel reached up and wound his arms around Dean’s shoulders, raising himself up the extra couple of inches to match Dean’s height. A growl escaped one of them, neither sure of whose it was, as Castiel slid his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, relishing the jolt of surprise from Dean. They continued kissing for a few minutes, Dean’s hands sliding down Castiel’s backside, gripping his ass firmly.

Suddenly Castiel broke the kiss and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Dean’s cheek, slowly licking his way down his chin, lightly nipping at the tender flesh of his neck. Dean let out a sigh and Castiel took the opportunity to push him down on the bed directly behind them, watching with a small smile as Dean looked up at him, confusion glossing over his face.

“Cas, what—”

“You’ve never known when to be quiet,” Castiel said, moving towards the bed. He knelt down and positioned a knee between Dean’s legs, climbing up onto the covers. He reached up and placed his hands on either side of Dean’s shoulders, steadying himself. His trench coat hung from his body, draped over them like a tent.

“I could say the same thing,” Dean shot back, struggling to stay composed. His mind was reeling and he couldn’t think of anything sarcastic to say like usual. Castiel cocked his head and leaned down, their lips meeting again, and pressed his knee against Dean, chuckling against his mouth as he felt him shift suddenly, from either shock or excitement, he wasn’t sure.

“Are you all right?” Castiel whispered, licking Dean’s lower lip. The shiver that ripped through Dean’s body spoke more than any words possibly could.

“I wasn’t expecting _this_ ,” he replied, at a loss for rational response.

“Should I stop?”

Dean reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back a couple of inches. He lifted up his head and bit Castiel’s shoulder, sucking lightly on the skin, listening as Castiel let out a groan of pain mixed with pleasure. He’d never heard Castiel react to _anything_ with such passion, and it was turning him on faster than anything else.

“Do _you_ want to stop?” he whispered, tightening his grip on Castiel’s hair. Another groan escaped his lips and Dean grinned, all hesitation he’d previously felt gone in the same breath it took him to kiss his way up his neck and bite his earlobe.

“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Castiel replied with a small smile, relaxing his body against Dean’s, closing his eyes as they kissed. Their tongues intertwined, Dean let go of Castiel’s hair and slid his hands down his shoulders, gripping Castiel’s arms. He broke the kiss and pushed, forcing Castiel off of him. He began to protest until he realized what Dean was trying to do. He quickly consented and slid towards the head of the bed, settling in against the thin pillow. Dean climbed on top of him and leaned down, kissing the small patch of skin just visible above his partially unbuttoned collar.

Castiel reached up to finish unbuttoning the shirt, pulling the fabric away from his skin as Dean continued on his quest. He hooked his hands suddenly underneath Dean’s arms and pulled him up, pressing their lips together once more as he moved a hand down to press it against Dean’s waist, fumbling with the button on his jeans, finally getting it unfastened and pushing his jeans a few inches lower. Castiel wrapped his fingers around his erection, slightly trembling with anticipation. He began to slowly move his hand up and down, recalling what he had seen in videos on Dean’s computer, but noticed that Dean’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as though something was wrong.

“Dean?” Castiel said, his voice deep and edged with concern. “Isn’t this what you want?”

Dean opened his eyes and shook his head, pulling away to let Castiel’s hand drop. He sat up, pants unbuttoned and partially shoved down just below his waist. “I can’t,” he said roughly, fumbling to fasten his pants as he backed away, sliding off the bed. “I _can’t_ ,” he repeated, shaking his head again.

Castiel moved to the edge of the bed, ignoring how tight his own pants were. A feeling surged through his chest and he recognized it as disappointment. “What happened?”

“This is wrong.” Dean glared down at himself, disgust in his eyes. “This is just _wrong_. I can’t do this to you.”

“I am more than willing—”

“That’s not _it_!” he shouted, stepping back another foot. “You’re my friend, and I can’t. I can’t do this to you. You’re not…you’re not _Cas_.”

Castiel blinked, trying to comprehend what he could have possibly meant. “Of _course_ I am,” he said, standing up so that they were nearly eye-to-eye. “Who else could I be?”

“You’re not _you_ anymore, you’re just—you’re just another _human_ , like _us_ , who fucked up and doesn’t know what they want.”

“Is that wrong, somehow? If anything, that should make you feel _better_ ,” Castiel said, frowning. “We’re on more equal footing, correct? Didn’t you say you loved me?” He paused. “Or did you only love me when I was an angel, when I was something more _abstract,_ more _unattainable_ for you? Is that it?”

“No! I mean…no, I still—shit, I don’t know. This just feels _wrong._ ” He was lying, but couldn’t tell for whose sake.

“Dean, please talk to me. I don’t know what you want—”

“Neither do I, Cas.” Dean walked over to where his jacket was still on the floor and swooped down to pick it up, shrugging it on over his shoulders. “I need to take a walk. Don’t follow me.”

“Stay.”

He looked over at Castiel, who was still standing in front of the bed. A neutral expression was on his face, but even at a distance, Dean could see he was trying to hold back anger. He knew him well enough by now to read the tiniest changes on his face.

“I can’t.”

“ _Dean_.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and Dean gave him a small smile.

“Forgive me,” he said, turning to head towards the door. Castiel watched him leave, knowing it would be better for him to do some thinking on his own.

 

 **“ _T_** _his_ is an interesting development,” Valefor said, a small sneer on his face. “Might I trouble you for the backstory?”

“That’s not important,” Dean said, refusing to back down even an inch. “Do we have a deal?”

Valefor moved a finger to his chin, mimicking thinking, and finally nodded. “I think we do, my good man. I think we do.”


	8. Your Protector

Part Eight: “Your Protector”

 

The sun outside was blinding, streaming through the thin curtains onto the closest bed, which happened to be occupied by Sam. He groaned and rolled over, trying to quell the raging hangover going through his brain.

He’d gotten back late the night before, pretty well on his way to blackout drunk, and found Dean and Cas both gone, with no note or anything to tell him where they’d gone. Figuring they needed space just as much as he had, he went to bed and promptly passed out.

Now they were both back, and Castiel was passed out in the other bed as Dean sat on the floor in front of the television, flipping channels. Sam cleared his throat and Dean turned his head to look back at him over his shoulder, smiling.

“Good morning!”

“You’re…happy,” Sam said, frowning. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just feeling a lot better today, you know? New day and all that.” He flicked off the television and tossed the remote on the floor, standing up to stretch. “We should get going. The next hunt can’t be that far away.”

“Uh…” Sam rubbed the back of his head. “Do we have a new case? I mean, with everything going on, I figured—”

“We’ve been lounging around here way too long. Come on, we should get moving. Hit up another town.” He reached out to smack Castiel’s leg, causing him to stir in the bed, making an annoyed grunt. “Up and at ‘em, sleepyhead!”

“What’s gotten into you?” Castiel moaned, slowly sitting up. He wasn’t used to feeling so … _drained_ as a human. He was slowly discovering it was a rough learning curve.

“I’m tired of wasting time. We should get going, help more people. It’s not like we’re going to be around forever, right?” Dean started packing up his duffel bag, grabbing clothes littered around the floor. “Come on, get up, both of you.  Before I leave without you.”

Sam made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower as Castiel watched Dean packing, hearing him begin to whistle off-tune. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, debating whether or not to press the matter. As he watched Dean act happily for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled and climbed out of bed, deciding to let it rest.

 

**_“D_ ** _o we have a deal?”_

_Valefor moved a finger to his chin, mimicking thinking, and finally nodded. “I think we do, my good man. I think we do.”_

_“Then it’s settled. I just want this to be over. Can you handle that?”_

_“My, you’re demanding.” Valefor steepled his fingers, smiling. “I like that, boy.”_

_“Stop stalling.”_

_“Fine,” he sighed, nodding slightly. “We have a deal. You know I can’t give your friend back his powers though?”_

_“I just want him safe, along with Sam. Neither of them deserved what they got out of all this.”_

_“What would you like to do to make it official?”_

_“You can have this back. Consider it payment.” Dean flicked something at him and Valefor caught it, turning it over in his hand. It was the coin he had given Sam at their first meeting._

_“Oh, this fun little thing. I’d forgotten all about it. One of my servants asked me to give it to someone for fun.”_

_“I don’t know why you gave it to him, or what it means, but I don’t think he needs any reminders of you. So take that and get out of my sight.”_

_“Didn’t you say you had one other request? Surely you haven’t already forgotten your own demands, have you?”_

_“Right. I was saving that for last.” Dean took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I need a favor. Something small, comparatively.”_

_“I do believe you’re pushing your luck, boy.”_

_“Stop calling me that, and consider yourself lucky I didn’t stick you in a devil’s trap,” Dean sneered._

_“Don’t even_ begin _to think you would_ ever _have an advantage over me,” Valefor said with a condescending chuckle._

_“Whatever. I want you to erase any memories from after when you and Sam made your deal to the present. Just mine. Is that something you can do?”_

_Valefor raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Normally I don’t fulfill requests such as that. Even us demons have_ some _semblance of morals, you know. May I ask why?”_

_“I’ve done some things that I’d rather not remember. Traditional methods didn’t work for forgetting.”_

_“Ah, yes. Alcohol can be quite tricky like that. One might think it’s perhaps…a tool of the devil?”_

_“_ Clever _. Are you going to help me out?”_

_“What exactly would I get in return?”_

_“As promised, you can have my soul. Isn’t that enough?”_

_“That’s only sufficient enough for the original deal. This is extra.”_

_“Then your payment can be the knowledge that I won’t track you down and_ kill _you because I won’t remember any of this. That should be enough.”_

_Valefor sighed. “You are simply no fun. Has anyone ever told you that?”_

_“Yes, a lot. Are we good?”_

_“I suppose. I tire of this back and forth. I have other deals to collect on, and you are only holding me up. I will see you soon, count on it.”_

_“Answer me something first.”_

_“I suppose.”_

_“Why are you willing to make this deal now? Why not before, when I first offered you my soul in exchange for Castiel’s? This is a bigger trade with less in it for you.”_

_Valefor smirked. “I can’t resist someone willing to give up everything and beg pathetically for his friends,_ especially _if he’s a Winchester. It’s simply too delicious.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared as Dean blinked._

_He was standing outside the door to a motel room, his hand on the doorknob. He frowned, wondering where he was. Why didn’t he remember this place? He opened the door and stepped inside, glancing around._

_Sam was fast asleep in the closest bed, the air around him reeking of alcohol, while Castiel was in the other bed, his mouth half-open, snoring. He let out a sigh of relief, and then frowned. Why was he relieved? Where had he been, if not with them?_

_Dean shrugged to himself and walked over to where his duffel bag had been tossed on the floor, bending down to rifle through it. He pulled out his extra jacket and rolled it over his hand so that it bundled into a makeshift pillow. Crouching down on the floor, he set it down and laid himself out, stretching his legs as quietly as he could. Minutes later he was asleep, dreaming of the delicious peach pie from his favorite diner as a kid._


	9. Box Up My Bones

Part Nine: “Box Up My Bones”

 

“Explain again _why_ you can’t just port us back and forth to towns anymore?” Dean complained, gripping the wheel of the Impala. The road stretched out for miles ahead of them, desolate as always.

Castiel sighed from the passenger seat. “We’ve been over this, Dean. I don’t have my powers anymore, remember? Heaven felt the need to…take them away for the time being.”

“Just because you messed up on one stupid case helping us out doesn’t mean you should be punished,” he muttered, adjusting his foot on the gas pedal slightly.

“How much longer till we’re there?” Sam asked from the backseat. He was lying down with a cloth over his eyes; he still had a migraine from dealing with the last case.

“Another hundred miles or so,” Castiel replied, glancing back at him. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied painfully.

“Just get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean winced, accidentally stepping into old habits of calling him that. He heard Sam suck in his breath and waited to get yelled at for treating him like a child, but no admonishment came.

The two of them had been acting strangely over the past month. Whenever Dean called Sam ‘Sammy’ he got uncomfortable and wouldn’t look at Dean for a while, and he was suspicious of this ‘mistake’ Castiel said he’d made that got his powers revoked. He was also much less uptight than Dean remembered, but that probably came with having to deal with being normal, like them.

Occasionally he’d catch Castiel staring at him with an odd look on his face, and one time he asked if there was something wrong. Castiel had asked if he remembered anything about him, and he gave him a strange look—he was Castiel, their friend. Why would he ask something like that? Castiel had just sighed and told him to forget it; apparently it wasn’t important enough to explain.

 

 **T** hey stopped that afternoon at a small diner just off the highway, since Dean had seen a sign that advertised “Mississippi’s Best Pie” and couldn’t stop talking about it until the other two had agreed to go. He parked the car next to a ratty pickup truck just outside the withered building and got out, stretching his legs gratefully. Calling over to Sam and Castiel to go inside and get them a table, he headed around the back to take a leak behind one of the trees. He was always wary of bathrooms in backwoods places like these, and preferred to take his chances outside.

As he looked around for a suitable tree, he heard someone clearing his throat just to his right. He turned quickly and saw a man standing a few feet away, wearing a black suit, a white stripe running through his jet-black hair. He seemed oddly familiar, but he had no idea why he would be.

“Hello, Dean,” the man greeted, his lips curling up into a smirk.

“And who are you, creeper?”

“Ah yes. It has been a while, not to mention you’re suffering the consequences of your own deal. Allow me to refresh your mind.”

Dean’s vision went black and he shouted, turning around and around in the darkness surrounding him. A second later he was looking at himself, drunk and holding onto Sam’s shirt like it was an anchor, their lips pressed together in a sloppy kiss. Bile began to rise in the back of his throat as he watched Sam push him away, both of them falling to the ground as he began to vomit profusely, and Sam screamed at him to stop calling him Sammy.

Then the scene changed and the two of them were in a motel room with Castiel, listening to him talk. He was explaining that he gave up his angelic powers for the two of them, to save them from a deal Sam had made. Dean turned around to see the man standing him, grinning sadistically.

“Starting to remember?” he asked.

Dean shouted and lunged, his hand balled into a fist, but ended up going straight through him. He stumbled and caught his balance, looking up to see himself and Castiel entangled on one of the motel room’s beds, furiously making out. Dean was kissing his way down Castiel’s chest, tearing away the fabric of his shirt—

“ _Fuck_!” Dean yelled, gripping his head in his hands. He began shaking his head violently, trying to push the images away, but it wasn’t making any difference. He and Castiel were kissing again, and his hands were pushing away Dean’s pants, reaching out to hold him, stroke him, Dean was moaning—

“Have you seen enough?”

He looked over to see the man he now recognized as Valefor holding out his hand, which was blurry. He blinked and realized he was crying, his cheeks wet with tears, his body shaking.

“Yes,” he choked out.

“Do you remember now?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he repeated, letting out a strangled noise. Valefor remained silent as he wept, his body wracked with sobs.

A few minutes passed and finally he was able to calm himself, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. He looked up to see Valefor waiting patiently, smiling down at him.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Not yet.” Dean slowly sunk to his knees. “Please…if only a little longer, can I please have more time? To…to try to make things right.”

“Are you sure? Those seem like things one would wish to keep buried.”

He nodded, feeling like he was four inches tall. “I’m sure. I need to fix things.”

“Very well. Does a year sound sufficient?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall come back for you in exactly one year’s time, Dean Winchester. I look forward to our next meeting.”

“Thank you.”

His whispered reply was lost to the light breeze as he found himself back in the forest, the diner a mere twenty feet away. He swallowed roughly and steadied himself, taking a few deep breaths before slowly walking back to the dilapidated building.

 

 

_\- One Year Later –_

Dean had changed.

Castiel wasn’t sure _why_ , but he was positive on the when. That day they had gone to the diner for pie, Dean had disappeared outside. He’d come back inside only a minute later, looking … it was hard to say exactly how, but he was _different_. Less confident, less assured, missing that usual swagger in his step. As he slid into the booth next to Castiel, he shrunk against the side as though trying to avoid being anywhere near him. Sam reached out to hand him a menu and he jumped, carefully taking it from him, claiming he was tired and just wanted to get his pie and leave.

He’d tried to corner Dean a couple of times over the next several months, wondering if something had happened that day, but Dean always blew him off, acting like nothing was wrong. During hunts he would barely look at either of them, acting recklessly without regard to their or his own safety.  One time he’d taken a serious blow to the chest from a sword, and was bleeding profusely as they drug him to the car after the kill. Sam had tried to get in the backseat with him to bandage the wound, but he kicked him away, fighting to be left alone, and looked like he was about to be sick at the thought of Sam being near him.

He wasn’t sure why Dean had changed…but he was going to find out eventually. He’d learned to be persistent.

 

 **C** astiel ran after Dean, who had just left the motel room after a quick shower. They’d finished a hunt and had regrouped at the room to clean up, and then Dean claimed he wanted to go get a drink, leaving quickly. Sam was already lying in bed, looking like he was going to pass out despite being covered in spatters of supernatural goo and blood, and Castiel had made the split-second decision to chase after Dean for answers.

“ _Dean_!”

He stopped on his heel and turned to see Castiel just behind him. The man had gotten fast after some basic training, learning to keep up with them, matching their stamina and various skills with weapons. He’d even managed to learn how to use Sam’s laptop, and the two of them would work for hours at a time doing research.

“Yeah?” He looked tired, as though he’d been running for miles and didn’t know how to stop. Which was true enough, at least mentally.

Approaching slowly, Castiel kept a light smile on his face. “Is everything all right?”

Dean checked his watch, as he’d been doing a lot more lately, especially over the past month. “Yeah, as good as things can be, you know?”

“I guess.” Dean started to walk away, but Castiel coughed, causing him to stop again. “Can I come with you? I could use a drink.”

“Yeah, why not.” He motioned for him to follow and Castiel smiled more widely, falling into step beside him. They walked for nearly a half-mile in silence before Dean came to a sudden stop, reaching out to grab Castiel’s sleeve. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

The smile disappeared from Castiel’s face, replaced by a concerned frown. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“Look, I’ve got something to tell you, and it’s not something that’s going to be easy for me. Can you promise to just listen and not say anything, or judge me, or whatever?”

“Dean, I’m no longer an angel, and besides, I’ve seen pretty much all of your bad sides.”

“Fair enough.” Dean took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tightened his grip on Castiel’s sleeve. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” Castiel echoed.

“I told you not to say anything.” He frowned and Castiel felt his cheeks flush from embarrassment. “I remember everything from that…period of time. A year ago. Well, just over a year ago. With you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. That night Sam left us alone was…I don’t want to say it was a mistake, because Cas, I _wanted_ it to happen, if I’m being honest with myself. But you’ve gotta know the truth—that wasn’t _me_ back then. I think Valefor did something to me, and I did some things I regret. I’ll never be able to make it up to him.” Castiel realized he wasn’t talking about him right then, but remained silent. “But that night with you…I don’t regret it. I think you should know that.”

“Can I say something?” Castiel interrupted, fully expecting Dean’s signature death stare to be facing him. Instead he heard him murmur consent, but his eyes remained closed. “You _were_ under some sort of—well, influence I suppose, but not for the entire time. You know that coin you stole from Sam?”

Dean’s eyes opened at that and he blanched. “How do you know about that?”

“Sam and I talked about it, later that day after the diner. When you first started acting… strangely. He’d done some research on that coin, and it was a demon’s trick designed to cause the recipient to feel…well, _urges_ towards those around him. I don’t know much more than that, but the point is, _Sam_ had it before you and _I_ did anything. Do you know what that means?”

Realization dawned on Dean’s face as a soft pink hue began to swiftly color his cheeks again. “You mean…when you and I—”

Castiel leaned forward and gently touched his lips to Dean’s, resisting his instinct to melt against his chest. He felt returned pressure as Dean worked with him, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist, pulling him close. His tongue slid over Castiel’s bottom lip, gently running along Castiel’s tongue, and Castiel let out a quiet sigh of happiness, never wanting to break the kiss.

Eventually they had to, and Dean tilted his head to rest it on Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought that maybe…back then, maybe that had just been a dream. A terrible, unattainable dream.”

“Then why did you push me away?”

“I _had_ to. I couldn’t deal with how I’d treated you. Leaving you alone like that…it was wrong of me to do that.”

“I understand. I probably would have done the same, if I’d been thinking straight.” Castiel pressed his cheek against Dean’s hair, breathing in deeply. “I don’t care about that anymore. All these years I’ve come to know you well, Dean. I’ve come to see who you really are. You’re perfect in your own way; I’ve grown to love you after all this time, and I think you’ve felt the same way for a while. Now we can continue what we started.”

“No, we can’t.” Dean lifted his head, releasing his hold on Castiel’s waist. A panicked look was present in his face, and he looked like he was going to throw up. “I’m out of time, Cas. _Fuck_ , I knew I should have done this sooner, but I was _scared_ —”

“We have all the time we need,” Castiel said, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t understand. Valefor…that day at the diner, I asked for more time, and he gave me a year. My time runs out today. I’m out of chances. _We’re_ out of chances, Cas.”

Castiel frowned. “What exactly did you promise him?”

“He gave me a year to make things right…and I never did with Sam. You’ve gotta tell him I’m sorry, Cas. _Please_ , tell Sam I’m _sorry_ , that I never meant to hurt him.”

“Dean, you’re not making any sense—”

“I had him take my memories away so I couldn’t hurt you anymore, and I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was only going to hurt you _more_ , I’m sorry Cas, I’m so sorry—”

 “I’m not,” Castiel replied softly. “At least we had this moment.”

“Such a _sweet_ display of tortured love,” a voice said behind them. Castiel snapped his head back to see Valefor standing a few feet away, impeccably dressed in his suit, smiling as he slowly clapped his hands together a few times. “Are you ready?” Valefor asked, ignoring Castiel’s glare that, had he still been an angel, might have melted Valefor’s face. He watched Dean nod and let go of Castiel, walking over to join Valefor.

“Dean?”

“I’ve gotta go, Cas. It’s part of the deal, my soul for both of yours.” Dean looked like he was about to cry, but was somehow managing to hold himself together. “I’m sorry.”

“Deal?” Castiel echoed, shaking his head. “No, I refuse to accept that. Let me go instead—you don’t deserve this, _any_ of this!”

“I’ve made my peace, Cas. Make sure Sammy knows I’m sorry for all the pain I caused him. Even if I was under some sort of spell, that’s doesn’t make up for how I treated him. I love you both, okay?”

Castiel fell to the ground, unable to think of anything to say. Dean nodded at him and smiled.

“I’ll always think of you,” he said quietly. Valefor snapped his fingers and they were both gone instantly, leaving Castiel alone outside.

A harsh wind suddenly kicked up, chilling Castiel to the bone as he stared out into the distance, realizing he was truly alone.

 

 **“H** ey, where did you go?” Sam asked, looking up from the book he was reading in bed as Castiel entered the motel room hours later. “Where’s Dean? I’ve been trying to call his cell but he hasn’t been picking up.”

“He’s not coming back.”

“What are you talking about?”

Castiel crossed the cheap carpet and collapsed onto the edge of the other bed, letting free all the emotions he’d kept bottled up for years in the form of tortured sobs. Sam ran over to him and tried to calm him down, calling his name, asking repeatedly what he’d meant by saying Dean wasn’t coming back. He finally managed to cough out what happened, leaving out the declarations of love between them, and Sam stood up, shaking his head.

“No. _No_ , we’re going _after_ him. There’s got to be a spell, a demon that will help us, _something_ we can do.”

Castiel managed to shake his head, his entire body still shaking. “ _No_ , Sam. He made his choice. It’s what he wanted.”

“That’s ridiculous, he would do the same, we can get him _back_ —”

“ _It’s what he wanted_ ,” Castiel repeated, his chest feeling as though it was going to shatter into pieces. He heard something smash into a wall followed by the sound of Sam repeating phrases of denial in a strangled voice, which only made it worse.

The two of them remained silent for hours afterwards, as night slowly descended upon them, casting shadows across broken furniture strewn around the room. Neither wanted to be the first to admit defeat; their shared silence spoke more than words ever could.


End file.
